


Sweet 16

by angelica_church_schuyler



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, In a way, Sibling Bonding, can you believe i have two multi-chapter fics in progress and i've decided to start another one, im a special kind of idiot, the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_church_schuyler/pseuds/angelica_church_schuyler
Summary: A series of one-shots in which the Bluth siblings turn 16.





	1. May 4, 1983

By the time celebrations were underway at the very first Cinco de Quatro, Gob’s parents still hadn’t acknowledged his birthday.  
He was completely fine with this. Maybe they were planning something at Cinco. He’d turn around later in the night and there they’d be, flanked on either side by Michael, Lindsay, and Buster, with the car he’d been subtly hinting that he’d wanted for months.

The longer the celebrations went on, the lower Gob’s expectations got.

Maybe they wouldn’t get him a car, maybe it would be a key to his dad’s car.  
Maybe it would be a new magic kit, or even a new piano. Pianos were cheaper than cars, right?  
Maybe it would be a cake.

By the time he actually ran into his mother, three hours into the celebrations, he was just hoping for some sort of acknowledgement. It was his 16th birthday, for Christ’s sake. It was kinda supposed to special.  
His mother stood on the boardwalk, surveying the celebrations with a vodka martini in hand and a satisfied smile on her face.  
“Gob!” she exclaimed once she spotted him in the crowd. It had taken her a surprisingly long time to see him, despite the fact that he was 6 feet tall and was also _her fucking son._ “Isn’t it amazing? God, they’ll have nothing left by tomorrow! That’ll show Rosa what happens when you take a day off.”  
“Yeah, totally,” he replied absentmindedly. He wasn’t sure if she was pretending to have forgotten or if she genuinely had no idea.  
That morning Buster had told Gob that if their parents had forgotten his birthday, maybe he should try to subtly remind them. Not too much, because then it makes them feel bad, but just a little nudge.  
For the first (and hopefully last) time, Gob took his little brother’s advice.

“So,” he said, interrupting the sound of the speakers playing some top 40 station. “May 4th. Kind of a big day, huh?”  
“After today, it’s going to be the biggest day on the Orange County calendar. I’m telling you, Gob, someday people will come to Newport Beach specifically for Cinco de Quatro. The tourist board should already be paying me”  
“Right, well, I wasn’t talking about this specific May 4th. Maybe like...some May 4th in the past. You know, what-what happened on, like, May 4th, 1912? Or...or May 4th, _1967?”_

_”Oh, of course,” she was supposed to say. “May 4th, 1967, the day my life changed forever. The day my first child, my wonderful son, my sweet baby boy was born. The day I officially became a mother. 16 years ago today, my God, has it really been that long? Oh, they grow up so fast! Here’s a car!”_

Instead of all that, she simply said “Oh my god, it’s Lucille Austero! What is that bitch doing here?”  
“I don’t know, Mom. Look, I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later.”  
As he turned away to either go home or get inhumanly drunk on tequila shots (he hadn’t decided yet), his mom spoke up.  
“Sweetie, wait!”  
Gob let himself get his hopes up just a little. It was a delayed reaction. She was distracted, of course, she hadn’t thought about it right away. He waited for the birthday wishes.  
“I don’t care how long you stay out, but I want Buster in bed by 9 and the twins home by 11, understood?”  
“Understood.”

* * *

As Gob sat on the pier, his bare feet in the water and a bottle of tequila stolen from an unsuspecting salesman in his hand, he vaguely registered ‘Come On Eileen’ playing in the background somewhere, and the presence of a small person walking towards him.

“Hey brother,” Buster said as he sat down next to him. For a second he looked like he was going to try to put his feet in the water too, but reconsidered when he realised his legs weren’t long enough to reach. “Did you talk to Mommy and Daddy?”  
“Yeah,” Gob said, trying very hard not to sound too drunk in front of his ten-year-old brother. Mom always said he was a bad influence, and he really didn’t want to prove her right. “Well, just Mom. I took your advice, though. Subtly reminded her.”  
“Did it work?”  
“No.”  
“That sucks.”  
“Yep.”  
Buster turned and pulled something out of the pocket of his windbreaker. It was small, and pretty hard to see in the dark.  
“I know you wanted a car,” Buster said. “And I was kinda thinking that Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t get you one, but I found this.”  
It was a toy car. Red, with orange flames down the side.  
“See, it’s got flames on it so it goes really fast,” Buster explained, placing the gift in Gob’s hand. “I know it’s not the kind of car you wanted, but...I don’t know, I just thought you might like it.”

Gob wasn’t sure whether the emotions he was currently experiencing were thanks to the present or the tequila. All his emotion-riddled brain could think to do was put his arm around his little brother and thank him.

“Oh my god,” Michael exclaimed from the other end of the pier.  
“Is this...is this affection?” asked Lindsay.  
“It can’t be.”  
“I think it is.”  
“In _our_ family?”  
“It really can happen to anyone.”

Gob rolled his eyes. The two of them got particularly sarcastic around each other. They were bad influences on each other.  
Lindsay took off her shoes and sat down next to Buster. Michael hesitated before doing the same, sitting next to Gob.

“Mom and Dad forgot my birthday.”  
“That sucks,” Lindsay said.  
“It does,” Michael agreed.  
Gob just shrugged. He was kind of beyond caring at this point.  
“Well, I got you a card,” Michael informed him. “And Lindsay bought you, like, 5 things of candy beans.”  
“Six,” Lindsay corrected. “And a thing of candy vines. Sorry your birthday sucks.”  
Gob was starting to think that maybe this birthday didn’t suck so much after all. Technically, he _did_ get a car. 

“Oh shit, Michael, what time is it?”  
Michael looked at the watch their father had given him for his thirteenth birthday (it had once belonged to their grandfather, and Gob didn’t care at all that Michael got the family heirloom despite being the younger son. Not at all). “It’s a quarter to 11, why?”  
“Shit, I was meant to have you guys home by now, Mom’s gonna kill me. Come on.”

Shepherding his siblings home, attempting to avoid his mother seeing them, Gob began to think that this was just a weird birthday. It was mostly awful but with some nice stuff. He had a couple of friends who had already turned 16 and they had mostly seemed confused on their birthdays too.  
Maybe being confused was just another part of getting older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't end things. I just don't know how. I'm sorry.  
> I currently have two other multi-chapter Arrested Development fics in progress and yet instead of working on those I thought "Hey, what if I just started a new one?" and now here we are.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Ps. I'm just using the actor's birthdays for the character's birthday. That's sort of where the idea came from, I found out that Will Arnett's birthday was the 4th of May and then my brain just spiralled out of control.


	2. January 14, 1985

Michael and Lindsay sat on the balcony watching the sunrise. Lindsay hated getting up early, but this was her’s and Michael’s birthday tradition: getting up at the ass crack of dawn, hours before the rest of the family, to spend the first part of their birthday together.

It started totally unintentionally on their sixth birthday. She’d been way too excited about the present their mom had helped her pick out for him (a book about pirates) and barreled into his room first thing in the morning to give it to him. He’d gotten her a Sleeping Beauty dress. It was a pretty great birthday.

This year she'd gotten him a book on maritime law in the 18th century. Even thinking about the topic made her want to claw her own eyes out but he was already excitedly flipping through it. He'd gotten her a pair of fingerless mesh gloves (just like Madonna) and a pair of pearl earrings. He usually got her jewelry. She usually got him a book. It was just another part of the tradition. They didn’t usually talk. They just exchanged gifts, wished each other a happy birthday, and watched the sunrise.

It was kind of weird, because the two of them couldn’t be more different. Aside from the obvious differences (boy and girl, blonde and brunette, tall and short), they were barely alike. Most other twins she knew were basically just one person. 

“Do you ever think about how different we are?” Michael asked, interrupting Lindsay’s train of thought and challenging their simultaneous ideas about being different.  
“Yeah,” she replied. “But I think we’re...well, we’re not similar but...you get me.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.” 

And it was true. No one else understood them like they understood each other. Michael always knew what to say when she was upset. He knew how to calm her down when Sally Sitwell was getting on her nerves, or how to make her feel better about herself when she was feeling insecure, or when to talk to her and when to just let her be.  
She knew when the pressure of being the heir apparent to the Bluth company was getting to him. She knew how he felt about Tracey, and she was the only person who wasn’t encouraging him to just move on already. She knew his entire life plan, and she knew how he was gonna get it. She knew that they both dreaded it.

One day Michael would go off to college and she wouldn’t. He either wanted to go to Stanford or the University of Phoenix. He hadn’t decided yet. She wanted him to go to Stanford (which he knew) because he’d be closer to home, closer to _her_.  
They didn’t know if they could handle being that far apart. Neither of them could even remember spending more than 24 hours without the other one there.

It was unbearably cliche, but sometimes Lindsay really did feel like half of a whole. She was her own person, and so was he, but so much of who she was was because of him. Every formative moment of her life he’d been right by her side. He knew everything about her, all of her secrets, all of her feelings, everything she’d never tell another soul. She knew all of his. They were just really important to each other.

After a while of just sitting there, it started to become apparent that the others had started to wake up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Buster walking towards the door and exchanged an exasperated look with Michael.  
She saw their dad leap into Buster’s path and intercept him  
Most of the family thought their little traditions were weird. All of them except Dad. Lindsay felt like he didn’t understand a fucking thing about her. But he understood this.  
Pretty soon, way too soon, they had to go. Mom and Dad (and Michael) were still making them go to school, despite the fact that it was their 16th birthday and Lindsay had been begging them not to make her go.  
Michael got up first. He took one last look over the balcony and then offered Lindsay his hand. She took it.  
They stood facing each other for a second. This last part was part of the tradition as well.  
Hugging was not a normal thing in their family, but their birthday was not a normal day. Every year they hugged, putting a year’s worth of hugs into just this one embrace.  
When they broke apart, Michael smiled at her.  
“Happy birthday, Linds.”  
“Happy birthday, Mikey.”

They headed back inside to face the day (and their family) the same way they always did. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know Michael and Lindsay aren't biologically twins but like...they were raised as twins. They're twins.  
> You know who's definitely not a twin? Me. I don't know what that experience is like. There is a high number of twins at the church that my family goes to (seriously it's weird) but I'm not one of them.  
> Anyway Michael and Lindsay love each other so much bye


	3. September 30th, 1989

Buster sat at the head of the table wearing a cone-shaped birthday hat, impatiently waiting for the doorbell to ring.

All three of his older siblings had promised to come home to visit for his sixteenth birthday, even Lindsay. She lived all the way over in Massachusetts now with her husband, but she said she’d try and make it. Buster hoped she would, but it wouldn’t have been the first time someone hadn’t shown up to his birthday party.

The collar of the blue sweater that he hated but his mother made him wear anyway itched unpleasantly against his collarbone.

Would Lindsay bring Tobias? Would Michael bring Tracey? He really didn’t want to have to interact with any more people than he absolutely had to.  
Being around people who weren’t his family (and sometimes people who _were_ his family) always made him nervous. He could almost feel the panic attack coming on already.  
It wasn’t that he didn't like Tracey and Tobias. They were nice enough. They just didn’t feel like family yet. 

He tugged at the collar of his sweater. 

His mother had been scurrying around the penthouse all day, putting up decorations, preparing vodka martinis (all for herself), yelling at Rosa, but she’d barely acknowledged Buster. She’d been sniffling all day too, so she was either getting emotional or getting a cold. Knowing his mother, Buster bet it was a cold.

His father was sitting next to him at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. Like every other birthday, he’d given his youngest son money and a lecture. This year, the lecture was about driving, for some reason. Buster couldn’t drive yet. It was a little weird. He’d talked a lot about safety and responsibility and warned that if Buster wasn’t careful on the roads he’d end up like J. Walter Weatherman. It made less sense the more he’d talked.

Buster soon discovered that if he craned his neck at a certain angle he could see Rosa icing a cake in the kitchen. It was the same blue as his ugly, itchy, awful sweater.

As he sat and wondered whether poor Rosa would retire or die first, the doorbell rang and his mother screamed. 

“ROSA! GET THE DOOR!”

It was no surprise to anyone that Michael was the first one to get there. Of course he was, he was _Michael._ He showed up right on time, every time. Never early, never late. Always right when you needed him.  
His older brother wished him a happy birthday, handed him a square package wrapped in brown paper (undoubtedly a book; Michael had given him a book every year since he learned to read), and sat across from their father to talk about the business. He hadn’t brought Tracey.

Michael was so grown up now. He was 20 years old, in law school, married. Maybe he and Tracey would even have a baby soon. Lindsay was married too. His siblings were _adults._

__The very thought was horrifying._ _

__It seemed like every other kid Buster knew was in a hurry to grow up. Kids in his class had jobs and cars, they were dating and partying and drinking and doing drugs. Gob, Lindsay, and Michael had done the same when they were teenagers. Buster, on the other hand, was perfectly happy being a kid for as long as possible, thank you very much._ _

__A blur of blonde hair and a tight hug distracted him from his thoughts.  
“Happy birthday, Busty!” Lindsay exclaimed. “God, I swear you were 2 years old, like, yesterday.”  
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “Next thing we know, we’ll be at his college graduation.” 

__Buster barely even heard Mother come over to greet and complain about Lindsay; Michael’s remark had thrown him right back to the anxiety swirling around his stomach like a pack of hungry sharks._ _

__Michael was right. Soon he would be in college, and what the heck was he supposed to do then? Where would he even go? Oh, God, he’d have to move out. What would he even _study?__ _

__He’d already expressed these particular anxieties to the guidance counsellor at school, who had chastised him for talking too much before telling him to just find something he was interested in, and pursue that. It was good advice, theoretically, but Buster was interested in a lot of things. Any subject you could name, Buster had probably read (and loved) multiple books on the subject. Neurology, psychology, the history of cinema, the geography of South America, the anatomy of different species of doves, 18th-century agrarian business. Buster just wanted to learn everything he possibly could. What kind of job let someone do _that?__ _

__It had been easy for the older ones. As long as Buster could remember, he’d known how their lives would turn out. Michael would study law and eventually inherit the Bluth Company. Lindsay would marry someone as equally rich and successful as Father and continue living her life the same way she always had. And Gob, well, Gob would be performing in some capacity, ensuring he was the centre of attention as much as possible._ _

__If he could, he’d just stay Baby Buster forever. He wanted Mother to take care of him, Gob to try and get him into trouble but always cover for him, Michael to buy him books and teach him everything he knew, Lindsay to take him out for ice cream and mix together all sorts of flavours that would inevitably look kinda pretty but taste awful. He wanted Father to ignore him and Uncle Oscar to be too nice to him and Rosa to iron his clothes. He wanted life to slow down. He didn’t want things to change._ _

__Speaking of never changing, Gob barrelled into the room late, right before Buster blew out his candles. He always had to make an entrance._ _

__“Didn’t mean to be late, but hey, I’m here, right buddy?” His oldest brother flashed him his getting-out-of-trouble smile._ _

__Gob hadn’t quite grown up. That was always an option, Buster supposed. Just do what Gob did. Travel the country, living off company money and doing whatever the hell you want.  
Look out for yourself.  
Be alone. 

__Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope. Growing up was scary, but the thought of having to take care of himself was a hell of a lot scarier. If staying Baby Buster was what it took to avoid that, he’d be Baby Buster forever._ _

__The sweater still itched.  
He gave up on trying to fix it._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo metaphors  
> ive been working on this chapter for 3 months. just this chapter, not even the whole fic, just this chapter on its own has taken me 3 goddamn months to write. i feel like thats not reflected in its quality but oh well  
> thats it!! yay!!!  
> i hope you liked it!


End file.
